My first exposure to the music of Alice Coltrane occurred while I was relaxing in savasana, or the corpse pose, on the floor of a Brooklyn yoga studio in the winter of 1993. The instructor started the cassette player, and out came the rich sound of a black woman’s tenor voice chanting the name of Siva, accompanied by a Wurlitzer organ and a small violin section. The music expressed an unusual combination of peace and longing. It was penetrating, soulful, and unlike anything I had ever heard. After class, I asked the instructor for the name of the artist. “Alice Coltrane, Divine Songs,” she answered. “Alice who?” I asked. “Coltrane,” she replied. “Coltrane—like John Coltrane?” I inquired. “Yes, his wife,” she confirmed.
For weeks, I searched intently for Alice Coltrane’s music but could find nothing in any of the major record stores in Manhattan. My instructor kindly made me a cassette copy of Divine Songs, which I listened to regularly until I loaned it to a friend, who lost it. I had nearly forgotten about Alice Coltrane when, seven years later, I found two of her old LPS, Journey in Satchidananda and Radha Krsna Nama Sankirtana, in a colleague’s extensive record collection. I listened again to this singular musician. In addition to Alice Coltrane’s piano and harp improvisations, these recordings featured Pharoah Sanders’s soprano saxophone, the hypnotic drone of the tamboura, and what sounded like a gospel choir singing the praises of Krishna. I was reminded of the Siva chant I had heard, and I began searching anew for her music.
At that time, I was a graduate student in ethnomusicology at Wesleyan University, and I examined discographies, jazz dictionaries, databases, and the World Wide Web. In the process, I learned that Alice Coltrane had played piano with her husband, John Coltrane, in the last years of his life. Additionally, I discovered that Alice Coltrane had recorded over twenty-five jazz albums as either a leader or side person during the late 1960s and 1970s, working with many of the top names in jazz. I also learned that, with the exception of two or three articles, nothing of substance had been written about her. With the help of friends, I began painstakingly to collect all of her out-of-print recordings. But, alas, I found no Divine Songs.
At the time, I had been considering writing my dissertation about female jazz composers. However, after discovering the breadth of Alice Coltrane’s music, and contentiously conferring with my friend, who insisted that I write about her, I decided that my doctoral thesis would focus on Alice Coltrane. But it was clear that I faced a huge obstacle. During my initial inquiries, I had learned that Alice Coltrane had become a spiritual recluse in the mid-1970s. She had founded an alternative religious community in Southern California, the Vedantic Center’s Sai Anantam Ashram, and her intermediaries claimed that she did not grant interviews.
Stubbornly hoping to meet her, I traveled to Sai Anantam Ashram, intending to participate in one of their Sunday services open to the public. To my disappointment, Alice Coltrane—or Swamini Turiyasangitananda, as she was called, using the feminine form of “swami”—did not lead the prayers and bhajans (Hindu hymns) that day. Nonetheless, I found myself in a temple, sitting on the floor with a group of African American devotees of Sathya Sai Baba, an Indian guru, and singing what sounded like black music from a sanctified church. After a full hour of ecstatic song and brief closing remarks, I was invited to drink some iced tea and visit the bookstore. There I finally found a recording of Divine Songs displayed with Alice Coltrane’s more recent devotional recordings and the spiritual texts she had written. I left with my arms full of her current music, her religious treatises, and more questions than answers.
That was nearly ten years ago, and much has happened since. The summer after my initial visit to Sai Anantam Ashram, Ms. Coltrane graciously granted me an extensive interview, which provided much of the groundwork for this study. I completed my dissertation about her music in 2003 and took a job as a music professor in Portland, Oregon, the same year; then I got married, gave birth to two children—who are now two and three years old—and somehow managed to complete this book before my tenure review. Busy with final revisions to the book, distracted by children, and immersed in my career, I received news that Alice Coltrane had passed away, quite unexpectedly.
I am very fortunate to have had the opportunity to meet Ms. Coltrane, not only because her life’s work is rich and remarkable, but also because so many musicians of her generation are passing on now, and they have so much to teach us. I also feel especially lucky that, amid institutional commitments and the scholarly hurdles involved with getting my first academic book to press, Alice Coltrane continues to inspire me, both spiritually and musically. As I grow as a musician, I find her aesthetic choices increasingly interesting. As I aspire to be more humane and compassionate, her spiritual teachings offer me wisdom. As I journey into motherhood and learn how to be a mentor to college students, her shining example of equanimity and clarity in the face of obstacles and multiple responsibilities offers proof that everything can all be accomplished with grace and passion.